


dancing in your arms tonight

by princessoftheworlds



Series: it's (not) all an act [7]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: Jack and Ianto go out for their first "date," but the paparazzi won't make it easy for them and their ruse.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: it's (not) all an act [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927099
Comments: 24
Kudos: 51





	dancing in your arms tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Helllllllllllo! I'm actually kinda lowkey in love with this, or rather at least the last scene, which those of you who read sing me like a choir may notice has some similarities to the last chapter. Yeah...I wrote this first and then the chapter, and it just sorta worked out that way lmao.
> 
> But there's a moment in this last scene that I'm really excited about, but uhhhh, never mind. More on that later. Tell me your thoughts in the comments? Also, thank you to those of you who've been commenting, cause in all honesty, this 'verse has been slipping lower and lower on my list of priorities as my semester ends, and every time I post a new installment, I'll be surprised by all the people who enjoy it!
> 
> Anywaysssssss, if there's anything in particular you'd like to see in this verse, feel free to request it lmao cause after the next 4ish parts, I have nothing else planned, and I'm trying to think of more, plot-wise! Enjoy!

The first thing Ianto sees when he opens the door of his flat is a large, extravagant bouquet of vivid red roses and, behind them, muscular legs clad in wool trousers that can only belong to Jack.

“I don’t remember you mutating into some sort of flower-creature,” Ianto remarks, tone as dry as the Sahara.

The bouquet is lowered to reveal Jack’s beaming face, his eyes bright and shiny. “I figured I’d surprise you! It is our first date after all!”

“A date,” corrects Ianto. “Everyone else is thinking we’ve been on many dates by now.”

Jack shrugs, quirking an eyebrow, “Well, I wanted to bring you flowers for _a date,_ no matter which one that might be.” He nods towards Ianto. “You gonna to let me inside?”

“If you’d like,” Ianto replies, taking the bouquet and leaving Jack to hover in the doorway and wring his hands together. He takes the bouquet to his kitchen and briefly pauses in a corner to take a deep inhale of their scent, a dusky sweetness that makes him shiver. No one has ever brought him flowers before, roses especially, and it’s a sweet romantic gesture, even if it is by his fake boyfriend. “Just a moment!” He fills a tall, wide glass with water and places the bouquet inside, resolving to find a proper vase later. 

Then he grabs his keys and cell phone and ushers Jack out the door, checking that it locks behind them.

“You look nice,” Jack says to him with the same sort of light, friendly teasing in his voice that Ianto’s become accustomed to. Still, there remains an indeciperableness note to his expression as he looks Ianto down, licking his lips slightly.

Ianto shivers. Then he glances at his maroon dress shirt and grey slacks before glancing over at Jack, who wears practically the same combination albeit with a baby blue dress shirt. “It was Yvonne’s suggestion, as she was the one who chose the restaurant.”

“She and Gwen must have compared notes!” Jack says cheerfully as they continue down the hallway, their shoulders brushing. Ianto lives on one of the higher floors of his high-rise, so they take the elevator straight into the underground parking garage. 

He automatically looks for his black Audi, but Jack pushes past him, heading towards a flashy red convertible. Ianto rolls his eyes, because what else did he expect from Jack Harkness? He follows Jack and slides into the passengers’ seat as Jack sits behind the wheel.

Just as Jack turns the engine on, the convertible coming to life with a quiet grumble, he reaches over to the front panel and presses a button to bring the roof up. Over the faint whirring, he explains to a bemused Ianto, “No need for the pap to find us so quickly.”

“Yes,” snarks Ianto, “because your car doesn’t draw attention at all.” He hears Jack snort and smiles himself, settling back comfortably against his seat.

He isn’t comfortable for long. Jack pulls out of the parking garage in a sharp right turn that has him white-knuckling his door handle. And that’s how things start. Quickly, it becomes clear that Jack is a risky driver. Ianto doesn’t know why he thought otherwise considering how Jack is in personality.

Jack cuts through the streets, screeching to a halt before red lights, all while keeping up a constant chatter with Ianto, who can only nod and mumble his agreement. He’s trapped at the edge of his seat, every muscle tense with concern and anticipation, and by the time Jack finally pulls his convertible into a parking slot in the underground garage that belongs to the restaurant, Ianto practically leaps out of the convertible, his legs wobbly as he tries to make the world around him stop spinning.

“You okay?” Jack asks quietly, placing a warm hand between Ianto’s shoulder blades and rubbing gently. Ianto catches himself leaning into the touch and manages to stop himself just in time.

He swallows down the sudden lump in his throat and nods. “Yes, yes, but I insist on driving back.” When he catches Jack’s eye, Jack only looks amused.

“If you think I’m a bad driver,” Jack begins, smirking, “you should see Jo-” Then he falters, his handsome face taking on a horrid expression that causes Ianto’s heart to clench in sympathy. He wore it often enough after...everything with Lisa. 

Sensing Jack wants to avoid the accidental mention of his ex, Ianto offers, “Shall we go up to the restaurant?” 

Jack nods enthusiastically. “Yeah.” He casts his gaze around the parking garage before pointing. “Elevator’s this way!”

* * *

The restaurant is well-lit, small, low tables dotting the space, elegantly dressed patrons toasting with expensive bottles of wine. The walls are panelled with dark wood yet seemingly make the interior feel far larger than it actually is. Ianto observes this all as their server leads him and Jack through the back of the restaurant to the open-air patio that faces the street.

He and Jack exchange glances when the server finally arrives before their table, gesturing for them to take their seats. They’re close enough to the sidewalk, despite the thin fence that separates the restaurant seating, that passerbys will be able to recognize them and maybe even reach for them.

“This is what Yvonne wanted,” Ianto mutters to Jack, his shoulders slumping. “Need to make sure we’re spotted by the paparazzi.” Jack nods in understanding, but his expression is a bit pinched.

They sit, gazing awkwardly at each other from across the table, as the server excuses themself to bring them complimentary wine, leaving behind menus. Ianto grasps his with loose fingers as he scans the prices, baulking. Yvonne does have a taste for the _expensive,_ and he’s immensely grateful that he’s not the actual one paying for the meal.

“Italian seems to be a recurring theme for us,” he offers in a poor attempt at making conversation.

It takes Jack a moment or two to catch on to his drift before he snorts in agreement. “Italian is classic romance, I suppose.” His expression becomes considerate. “Next time, we should eat Thai. I know a really good place downtown.”

Ianto nods, mind catching on “next time.” He knows that with this fake relationship, continuous dates are guaranteed, and that’s what they agreed to as well, but for some reason, the prospect of another fake date with Jack causes his cheeks to warm. “I suppose we should.” A beat. “Do you know what you want to order?”

“Fuck, no,” Jack says vehemently, startling a laugh out of Ianto. Jack looks pleased. “This place is so expensive. I might have flashy tastes, but even I can recognize wasteful spending. We could have just gone to Taco Bell.”

Rolling his eyes, Ianto continues scanning the menu until he settles on a dish that seems to not be priced enough to make his wallet and conscience cry, even if he’s not the one paying. Not much later, the server comes back, pouring them deep glasses of red wine, before taking their orders.

Once they are gone, Jack leans back in his chair, grasping the stem of his wine glass. He takes a thoughtful sip before wrinkling his nose. “Blah.” He sets the glass back on the table. “Too sweet for my taste.”

Ianto takes a sip of his own and secretly agrees, setting his glass aside. The wine is rich, with fruity undertones, but is not to his preferred taste. “So,” he says.

“So,” echoes Jack. After a few minutes of their regular comfortable silence, he threads his fingers together, placing them on the edge of the table. “What do people even talk about on dates? There’s usually little wooing before I take someone to bed.”

“Romantic,” snarks Ianto, at which Jack huffs a slight laugh. Then Ianto shrugs his shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been on a date in… a really long time.” 

The last date he went on - in fact - was his engagement dinner with Lisa. He’d paid their waitress to hide the ring in the tiramisu Lisa ordered, but she had nearly choked on it instead before sobbing her “Yes! Of course, Ianto Jones, I will marry you!”

How was Ianto to know it wasn’t to last?

Seemingly sensing that his attention has waned, Jack snaps his fingers before Ianto, grinning widely. “Where’d you go, Mr. Jones? I’m not used to other people getting distracted on me! I’m usually the one distracting them.”

“Because you’re certainly humble,” Ianto murmurs, rolling his eyes. Jack’s grin widens. 

“Are you calling me conceited, Ianto?” teases Jack.

“You said it, not me,” Ianto retorts, reaching for the wine glass again. He takes another sip and finds that the taste is growing on him. There is a slight tart aftertaste to the wine that he actually enjoys.

Their server returns, their orders in tow, which they gradually set down before Jack and Ianto. Jack’s risotto is steaming and smells fragrant to a suddenly ravenous Ianto, enough that even the bits of vegetables within look tempting, but luckily, Ianto’s own order of cacio e pepe is within reach. 

He raises his fork and takes his first bite of savory cheese and pasta, the pepper burning his mouth only slightly. Jack is digging into his own risotto enthusiastically. Ianto is delighted to find that the food is delicious enough to almost make up for the price. _Almost._

Conversation takes a backseat for a few minutes, but once Ianto no longer feels the wild edge of hunger, he relaxes a bit, exchanging his fork to take another sip of wine. Jack watches him amusedly. 

“It’s not that bad,” says Ianto, just a tad defensively, head raised high.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jack replies, chuckling. He takes another bite of his risotto and swallows, humming contentedly. “Say what you want about the price, but this might be the best risotto I’ve had outside of Italy.” Briefly, there’s a bit of that previous blankness in his eyes, but he quickly blinks it away, smiling cheerfully. 

Ianto momentarily narrows his own eyes at Jack, recalling the pap shots of Jack wrapped around John Hart. This, and that previous reference, is the most often Jack has mentioned Hart before and causes Ianto to wonder what happened to keep Hart on Jack’s mind so recently.

“I’ve never been,” he admits.

Jack’s eyebrows raise. “Really?” he says, leaning forward, elbows braced on the table, and Ianto wants to chastise him for his bad manners. 

“I don’t travel much. I really only go where filming takes me,” Ianto tells Jack, whose eyes soften.

“That’s a shame,” he says. “I’ll ta-”

Ianto is fairly sure that Jack was about to say that he would take Ianto to Italy, but Jack never gets a chance to finish as they are suddenly rushed by a crowd of yelling paparazzi clutching cameras and pressing against the thin fence. The coiling metal seems sturdy enough, but for a brief moment, Ianto imagines it snapping under the force of the shoving crowd and sending the horde pitching towards him and Jack. 

As blinding camera flashes begin to pockmark Ianto’s vision, he ducks his head, quietly groaning. Jack ducks down as well, lips curled in a loose frown.

“I guess Yvonne and Gwen’s ‘anonymous’ tip-off worked,” Jack says, eyes tight. His frown straightens out, and he reaches over to place a warm hand on Ianto’s. “You okay?”

“No,” Ianto replies in a strained voice. “I’ve never liked paparazzi or being at the center of attention.” He smiles wryly. “Perfect characteristics for an actor, right?” Still, it’s fairly evident Jack doesn’t like the sudden attention either; no actor does.

It’s not as if the occasional passersby weren’t vaguely recognizing Ianto or Jack either, but they’d been kind enough to leave the men undisturbed. Now, the paparazzi are causing a loud commotion, drawing attention from even their fellow restaurant patrons who’d previously been ignoring him.

Ianto attempts to continue eating, but hunched over the table, he is no longer comfortable and can barely hear Jack any more. He is faintly aware of Jack ushering the server over and discretely passing them a thick wad of bills, murmuring quiet instructions to them, but Ianto is now focused on making himself as invisible as possible.

It is clearly not working.

Minutes pass by painfully slowly, the paparazzi yelling instructions and questions at them, but the noise falls like buzzy static over Ianto’s ears, indecipherable aside from being _noise._

On the other end of the patio, there is a sudden loud clatter, several patrons grumbling loudly enough to draw Ianto’s attention over the paparazzi, and he whips his head around to see that their server has spilled their tray of plates, porcelain shattering over the flagstones. Before he can narrow his eyes for a better look, Ianto is yanked out of his seat by Jack.

“Let’s go,” Jack says urgently and, in the chaos, quickly cuts through the patio, ushering Ianto before him despite Ianto’s bewildered protests. They head to the back of the restaurant and are pointed towards a partially-hidden exit by another server, who smiles politely when Jack nods at her.

They emerge on an isolated street behind the restaurant, and Jack continues forward before noticing that Ianto has ground to a confused halt.

“What?” Jack asks, fixing Ianto with a pouty smile. “We should move before the pap realize we’ve escaped and try to find us again.”

“What about your car?” asks Ianto. 

Jack grins. “I’ll come back for it.” He gestures for Ianto to come forward. “Now, follow me. I won’t let the paparazzi ruin our fake date. I know a nice place around here.”

* * *

The “nice place” that Jack knows has an entrance wedged down a set of industrial stairs in a lonely alley, leading Ianto to wonder just how “nice” it actually is. 

“Are you sure this is the place?” asks Ianto skeptically, but Jack just grins at Ianto as he leans over to rap rhythmically on the metal door.

A thin grate on the door opens with a faint creak, and a voice echoes past the metal, “Password?”

“Orpheus,” says Jack, winking at a bewildered Ianto. He thinks he’s starting to understand where exactly Jack has brought him. The door creaks open, pulling back flat against the brick wall, and Jack enters, pulling Ianto in within him.

Inside is a whole different world, and Ianto feels like he’s slipped back in time. The brick walls are covered in old-fashioned glowing light fixtures, matching chandeliers glittering where they hang down from the ceiling. The booths pressed along a wall and a corner are draped in plush red velvet, centered around mahogany tables, all facing the high wooden stage. Below the stage is a flat dance floor where couples of all genders are swaying in each other’s arms to the smooth jazz played by the live band next to the stage. And along the wall opposite the booths is a long wooden bar with stools before it and a wide mirror and shelves lined with colorful bottles of alcohol behind it.

“Holy fuck,” breaths Ianto.

Jack turns to look at him. “Impressive, isn’t it?” His eyes crinkle with delight as he takes in Ianto’s awed expression. “I always love coming here with newcomers. It’s like stepping through a door in time, and it’s so worth it for that expression.” He nudges Ianto gently, “Let’s go get a drink.”

Ianto shuffles after him, still staring around like a wide-eyed baby deer. At the bar, Jack slides smoothly onto a wooden stool, and Ianto takes a seat opposite him. They both order whiskeys and lean against the bar, sipping them. The slight buzz that Ianto had taken on from the wine previously has since faded, and he relishes the burn of the whiskey down his throat, watching the dancers.

The whiskey in his glass is nearly gone when Jack notices his distractedness. “Wanna dance?” he says teasingly.

Immediately, Ianto blurts out, “No. I was...just watching.”

Jack winks at him, smirking, but then, to Ianto’s horror, he slides off his stool and moves before Ianto, extending a hand. “Come dance with me.”

Ianto blanches. “ _What?_ No.” His fingers twitch to take Jack’s hand, but he still forces himself to hesitate.

“C’mon.” Jack keeps smiling. “We’re still technically on a date.” He cants his fingers at Ianto. “Besides, dancing isn’t an inherently romantic thing. Even friends can dance.”

Lured by Jack’s pretty smile and vivid wide eyes - and the secret desire to press closer to Jack, Ianto slides off his stool as well, taking Jack’s hand. Jack pulls Ianto towards the dance floor and pulls him closer, wrapping a warm hand around his waist.

Taking the lead, Jack sways Ianto in a soft circle to the slow music, drifting the hand at Ianto’s back to rest as a warm weight between his shoulder blades. Ianto melts into the touch, surprised by his own daring.

They shuffle together to the bright burbling of the saxophone and the sharp, clear trill of the flute, Ianto held loosely in Jack’s arms, their fingers linked. He feels content, warm, welcome, _held._

Ianto blinks.

Then he’s sitting back at the stool, Jack by his side. His glass still holds about a finger of whiskey. Jack’s glass is empty, resting a few inches from his elbow on the bar.

Ianto glances sharply towards the dance floor but finds only couples swaying in time to the music. He glances back and finds Jack staring at him curiously.

“Everything okay? You just went a bit quiet there.” 

“Yup!” Ianto says just a tad too brightly to be believable. Jack furrows his brow at Ianto but then shrugs.

“Did I ever tell you about the time that…?” he begins, diving into a tale about a horribly hilarious mishap from drama school. His eyes are sparkling and animated, and Ianto finds himself leaning closer, drawn in by Jack’s magnetic charisma.

Jack isn’t holding him, but Ianto contentedly lets his voice wash over him in a warm cloud.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik). I tweet and reblog mostly Torchwood with occasionally amusing commentary on nonsense. Please come talk to me and tell me if/how much you like my fic or like ask me about it on tumblr; all my schoolwork has become remote now, and I have limited social interaction. 
> 
> And if you have any future ideas for this verse or something you'd like to see, drop it in the comments!
> 
> No, I quite mean it. I'm trying to plot the rest of this verse ahahahahha. Like literally, anything goes.


End file.
